


One of Us Two

by hgdoghouse



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-14
Updated: 2011-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-26 01:58:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set directly after the end of the episode 'Wild Justice'</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of Us Two

** Dialogue from the last scene in the episode 'Wild Justice',  
written by Ranald Graham

 

 

 

Post _Wild Justice_

 

**Bodie: "Mind if I ask you a question?"

Cowley: "What?"

Bodie: "If I had've killed him, would you have pulled the trigger?"

Cowley: "What do you think?" He walks away.

Bodie to Doyle: "What do you reckon?"

Doyle: "I reckon he might've done."

Bodie: "Yeah."**

"Except for one small detail," said Doyle.

Still coming down from the adrenalin rush which had buoyed him up all day, Bodie gave him an absent look. "What's that?"

"Cowley's not stupid enough to try to kill you while I'm standing beside you." Doyle waited until he was satisfied that even his bone-headed partner had got the point before he swung around. As he expected, Cowley was still within earshot, was in fact heading back towards them, an inimical glare in place. Doyle met it with an unflinching stare; his weight balanced, he was, quite clearly, ready for anything.

"Are you giving me due notice, 4.5?" enquired Cowley.

"If you like. Though you've never struck me as a stupid man, sir."

Reminded that, in the heat of the moment, he, too, had been guilty of poor judgement, Cowley's expression could have soured milk. While Doyle respected authority, he never hesitated to test those who wielded it when he thought it warranted and he rarely bothered to be subtle when he did so. That said, Cowley was under no illusions: Doyle meant what he had said, his casual attitude of only days before lost to a tight focus centred on Bodie.

"That's quite a eulogy," said Cowley dryly. "I'll try not to let it go to my head." Satisfied when he saw Doyle give a faint wince he turned his attention to Bodie's pale, uncommunicative face. He saw nothing to persuade him that he wanted Bodie back on the streets just yet. He would give Doyle the rest of the weekend to knock some sense into his partner, then send Bodie back to Jack Crane. It was 'make or break' time.

"I want you both in my office, nine sharp, Monday morning," he said briskly.

Still on his guard, Doyle nodded.

"Sir." Bodie's parade rest stance was in marked contrast to Doyle's canted hip slouch.

Unimpressed, Cowley looked Bodie over. "I want your gun and your assurance that you won't use any of the weapons you undoubtedly have stashed away."

"I'm not armed, sir. I am off-duty," Bodie added, his expression unrevealing, which was informative of itself.

"Then you'll stay that way until I say otherwise, clear?"

"Sir."

Bodie's face still gave nothing away, while Doyle's expression spoke volumes. Cowley ignored the pair of them and stalked off, trying to remember where he had parked his car.

 

 

They were halfway back to London when Bodie broke the silence: "Did I really hear you threaten to take on the Old Man?"

"S'pose you must've done," said Doyle, changing gear.

"You must have a screw loose."

Doyle didn't even glance his way. "Pot calling kettle, that is. Besides, the only person who gets to shoot you is me."

It had a possessive ring to it but Bodie wasn't up to much introspection right now. "Fair enough," he said, closing his eyes.

"And don't think I'm not tempted," Doyle added in the same level tone, his control hard-won. "You've behaved like a..." He broke off with a sound of impatience.

Bodie shot him a glance, then looked away, braced for the tirade which never came. After a while he shut his eyes again but the silence was far from restful.

"I just want to know one thing," said Doyle, at the same time they began to pick up traffic on the outskirts of London. "Why didn't you trust me to help you?"

"Of course I trust you," said Bodie irritably, opening his eyes.

"So it wasn't because I'm not ex-army?"

His attention fully engaged by this time, Bodie stared at Doyle's set profile. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"You tell me."

Caught in a traffic jam with no way out, they sat in another uncomfortable silence until finally the snarl-up began to untangle.

Bodie rubbed the back of his neck. He could have slept for a week. The cheery yellow of Doyle's tee shirt was in marked contrast to his expression but at least his frown was directed at the road. Bodie noticed the dried mud caught in his curls and resisted the temptation to pick it out. It had never occurred to him just how hairy that bike ride could have been for Doyle if anything had gone wrong, although it had obviously occurred to Ray. And while he'd moaned for England, Ray had stayed, right up to the moment when he'd announced he was going to ride the widow-maker. He would never have asked Ray to ride that. Wouldn't even have wanted to watch him try.

One thought leading to another, Bodie studied Doyle's profile, Ray's desertion making sense now. Though why he was harping on about the army...

"I don't go on about my days in the army, do I?" Bodie said into the silence.

Doyle snorted. "Hardly." The connection bar between trailer and Suzuki rattled and jolted as they hit a series of potholes.

"Then why would you think the fact we've got different backgrounds would make a difference?"

"I dunno. When Jill Haydon came to see me, it never occurred to me that you wouldn't want to be involved in the investigation too. You gave up a week's leave to help me out. Whereas when you had a problem I didn't know anything about it. Though thinking about it, you don't often let me in on anything that's important to you. Not since Krivas."

"Give it a rest," sighed Bodie in long-suffering tones. "Look, if you must know, it didn't occur to me that you'd be interested."

In the silence which followed Doyle looked as if he had been backhanded across the face. "I see," he said eventually.

Bodie frowned, trying to account for what might be wrong with Doyle's voice, then sneezed three times in quick succession as smoke from a fire on the derelict site they were passing drifted in through his open window.

"I dunno what they're burning down there. I'll shut my window for bit. Even your eyes are watering."

"Yeah, that'll sort it," agreed Doyle, winding up his own window and giving a couple of lush sniffs.

The last part of the journey was completed in silence. When Doyle pulled on the handbrake and switched off the ignition Bodie looked up to see they were parked outside their current headquarters.

"What are we doing here?" he asked, without much interest.

"We're going to write our reports. Mine will be on the short side," Doyle added acidly, sounding more like his old self.

 

Doyle was just finishing his tea when Bodie stopped his two-fingered typing on the old Imperial.

"You can't have finished your report already?" said Doyle.

"It doesn't take long to say 'No excuse, sir'," said Bodie.

Doyle twitched the report from Bodie's hand.

"Oy," said Bodie without heat.

"Be grateful I'm reading it in front of you." By the time he had finished, which didn't take long, Doyle looked as if he had taken a swig of vinegar.

"Well, go on, say it," invited Bodie, aware, now it was over, that he hadn't handled things as well as he might have done.

"What's the point? You already know you've made a prat of yourself. You should've told me what was going on."

"Maybe. But I know what you think of - " Bodie stopped dead.

Doyle frowned and sat opposite him. "Think of what? You? We've been partnered for over five years. If I'd had a problem do you seriously imagine we'd still be working together? Well, do you?" Intent and direct, there was none of the usual Doyle fizz and flare when his temper was up, just a searching stare that was difficult to sustain.

The anxiety behind it stopped Bodie from snapping his head off.

"You don't know everything." Bodie's gaze slid away, remembering scathing comments about mercenaries.

"You mean your record wasn't complete when I had a look at it?" said Doyle blandly.

That got Bodie's full attention and he straightened where he sat. "You've seen my record?"

Doyle's expression relaxed into unfeigned amusement, his eyes wide and warm, small laughter lines fanning out from their corners as he smiled. "That outrage might be a bit more convincing if I didn't know you'd seen mine."

"You know about that?" Bodie looked mildly chagrined.

"I assumed that was the whole point of the exercise. We were winding one another up on a regular basis back in the early days."

"Yeah, but it never occurred to me that straight-as-a-die Ray Doyle would break into Cowley's - You're having me on."

Doyle gave one of those rich, filthy-sounding chuckles which always went straight to Bodie's balls. "No. Still, it's nice to know that, even in the beginning, you thought I was the exception to your rule."

"Eh?"

"That I was an honest copper. Which is nothing short of a miracle given the reputation the Met. had. Still does, come to that."

Bodie grimaced and came clean. "At that stage it was more me assuming that Cowley had done his homework. Besides, after what happened to you - "

"Never mind that. You realise you're going to have to redo your report for Cowley?"

Bodie gave a despondent sigh and fidgeted where he sat. "I thought I might. I just don't know what to tell him. You know how it is. You mean to keep in touch with old mates and the next thing you know they're dead and it's too late. A lot of it was about...guilt, I suppose," he added with mild distaste, as if confessing to some gross aberration. "But I can't go telling the Old Man that."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't suggesting you break the habit of a lifetime and decide to be completely honest with him. You could always claim you didn't want to waste CI5's time and resources - that would be me, by the way."

"He'll never swallow that."

"No, but a bit of brown-nosing never hurts. You could've had a word with Cowley, come to that. He backed me on the Haydon case, he would certainly have backed you on this."

Bodie's shoulders slumped. "Bugger. I never thought of that, either."

"And he's ex-army as well."

"Will you stop harping on about the army," said Bodie with exasperation. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want to risk you getting hurt on something that had nothing to do with the job."

"Me being so fragile and all." Warmth was giving way to a more familiar irritation. It was oddly reassuring.

"Don't be a pillock. I'd lost too many mates from my old mob as it was. You're my best friend."

His guard flattened by four simple words, Doyle looked absurdly vulnerable before he rallied in typical fashion.

"All the more reason to _include_ me. Sideline me again and I'll have your guts for garters."

In the silence which followed Bodie found himself pinned by a wide-eyed gaze which seemed to search clear to the heart of him. It occurred to him that whatever had been bothering Doyle wasn't any more, but then Ray would blame himself for a dog getting fleas given half the chance.

Full of nervous energy, Doyle got to his feet. "I should have noticed something serious was up with you. Even earlier... I just put it down to you flexing your ego and got pissed off. Sorry. Now, get typing. And try to sound as if you've got more brains than a rocking horse. Then we can get some food inside you. Me, too, now I think of it."

"What about Sally?" asked Bodie, yawning as he set carbon paper between two report sheets and carefully aligned them between the rollers; they creased despite his care.

"What's she got to do with anything? Oh fuck..." Doyle's consternation was priceless.

His world sliding back into focus, Bodie gave a spreading grin. "You never left her at Knoll Hill?"

"No, it's not that bad. But bad enough. At The Seven Stars. Mind, I think I was on the way out anyway. I'd best give her a ring. Make sure she's home. If not..." Doyle headed for the door.

"Make the call in here," said Bodie, pausing in his two-finger typing.

"Why?"

"I could do with a laugh." Bodie didn't attempt to evade the light swipe to the back of his head.

The telephone conversation was short but less than sweet.

His expression pensive, Doyle gently set down the receiver.

"She was home then," said Bodie brightly.

"Why I'd expect sympathy from you... Though I can't claim I didn't deserve that. I forgot all about her. And it's your fault," Doyle added with more spirit.

"I had a feeling it might be," said Bodie placidly, as he got to his feet.

"Have you finished that report? Then give it here." Doyle held out an expectant hand.

"Planning to check my punctuation?"

"No, to make sure you don't get yourself thrown off the squad." Doyle looked up suddenly, his eyes narrowing. "Is _that_ what this has been in aid of?"

"Prat. Of course not. I told you, I didn't think things through."

"Then you'd best put on your asbestos underwear Monday morning, Cowley's going to eat you alive," said Doyle, after scanning the report.

"You'll protect me," said Bodie flippantly, as Doyle strolled towards him.

He was surprised when he ended up bumping into the wall, the heat of Ray Doyle only inches away from his front, that just-parted mouth...

"Where's this food you promised me?" Bodie asked with haste, afraid that, after all this time, he might betray himself and lose everything. "I'll pay."

Doyle blinked, as if surprised to find them in such close proximity, and took a couple of steps back. "Too right you will."

Bodie began to wonder if he had imagined it all. He'd been wondering that a lot recently but wishful thinking wouldn't help anything.

 

It was only as he tried to stay awake while nursing a bottle of lager that Bodie realised where he was. "This is your place."

"Sharp, very sharp. I wondered when you would notice. I want you where I can keep an eye on you. You look as if you could do with a kip."

"Not while it's still light. Strewth, it's barely seven," Bodie discovered, glancing at his watch.

"Then it will soon be dark. Get your head down. You can use my bed. If you want a shower you'll have to make do with my towels, the rest are at the laundrette. Reminds me, I've just got time to pick up the clean load. I'll get some food in too, so I'll probably be a while. See you later."

Doyle exchanged his dirty laundry for clean and shopped in record time. After checking to make sure Cowley was not at headquarters he drove to Cowley's mews flat, situated a stone's throw from the back of Buckingham Palace.

 

 

It had been years since Cowley had opened his front door without knowing who stood on the other side, so he was prepared for the sight of Doyle, whose belligerent facade hid... It occurred to Cowley that he wasn't sure what it was hiding, but then he was rarely completely certain what went on inside that curly head, Bodie his interpreter, if he needed one.

"No gun?" said Cowley, his eyebrows raised.

Doyle gave a hiss of exasperation. "You're like a bloody dog with a bone. Can I come in, sir?"

"I suppose I'd better say yes. I wouldn't want that temper of - "

Hands on his hips, Doyle glared at him. "Look, I said I was sorry."

"I must have missed that part," said Cowley, before he stepped aside. "Och, come in, man." He left the door for Doyle to deal with and headed upstairs.

While the furniture was of a far better quality than that in the flats allocated to agents, the mews flat still had the unloved, impersonal feel that Doyle was coming to hate more with each move. He stood in the middle of the living room, only now realising that he wasn't even sure how to ask for what he wanted.

"Help yourself to a drink," said Cowley.

"Uh, no thanks."

"Then you can pour me one."

Doyle wandered over to the side-table, which held a bewildering variety of bottles, most of them malt whiskies.

"Why are you here?" asked Cowley, listening to the clink of glass on glass.

Still holding Cowley's drink, as if he had forgotten what he was supposed to do with it, Doyle drained it in one swallow, coughed and set down the glass. "I shouldn't be. Sorry, sir, I'll go."

"You stay where you are. That was single barrel Balvenie you swigged down like Tizer, and I don't pay you enough for you to be able to afford to drink that."

"Oh." Doyle glanced back at the glass, as if wondering what great taste experience had passed him by, then perched on the arm of a leather sofa, rubbed his nose and finally met Cowley's gaze.

"Bodie wouldn't have killed Billy."

"You're sure of that, are you?"

"Positive. He knows he over-reacted and - You know Bodie. He won't make excuses for himself."

"So he sent you to do it for him?"

Doyle gave a resigned sigh. "You do like your pound of flesh. Of course he didn't. My life won't be worth living if he finds out I came here, as you well know. The thing is, it was guilt - that he lost touch with his old mates and didn't give 'em a thought until they died. Williams being murdered that way was the last straw. Not that Bodie will admit as much."

"I thought guilt was your speciality."

"Me, too. Just goes to show. He wouldn't have killed Billy. Think about it. Krivas killed the girl Bodie loved and Bodie let _him_ live."

Cowley nodded. He should have thought of that himself. "How did it get to this stage?" he asked brusquely.

"I wasn't paying attention."

Doyle had no intention of telling Cowley how little he had seen of Bodie outside work for the last few months, Bodie spending all his time with Jennifer Black. Bodie had met her just before his own life had fallen apart when he had lost Anne. It had been the final twist of the knife. Not that he had been surprised when Bodie found someone. It had always been on the cards that Bodie would want to settle down one day, all that affection couldn't go begging forever. Which was why he had tried to train himself to stop noticing Bodie so much; to find someone of his own to fill the gap that would be left in his life. He had homed in on someone who was as far removed from Bodie as possible.

It wasn't as if he had ever really believed he would have a chance with Bodie. The jokes and the gropes were just...Bodie. Stupid to have thought there was more to it.

"...you might not have any plans for this evening but I - "

"Sorry, sir." Jolted from his preoccupation, Doyle got to his feet.

"What was so interesting that you failed to notice there was anything wrong with Bodie?"

Doyle shrugged and said the first thing which came into his head - apart from the truth. There was no way he wanted Cowley wondering why he had been trying to avoid Bodie. "The course. I always enjoy the training sessions."

"You do? I'm sure Jack would be surprised to hear that."

"Compared to the real thing it's a doddle. It's good to test yourself when the worst thing that could happen is a few bruises. I was too busy trying to improve my personal best to notice Bodie's scores were off. Or at least to wonder why. The water pistol should have warned me."

"You're not his nursemaid."

"No, I'm his partner. But I'm not ex-army. I don't understand what that means to him - beyond the obvious. You know my record with the Met. Once I shopped Preston... Well, we both know my career was going nowhere after that. He had mates all over the Force."

"Did they ever identify your attackers?"

Doyle's hand went to his cheekbone in a gesture he probably wasn't aware of making. "No. Hardly surprising, given that I only ever saw their boots, not their faces. There was a pretty wide choice of suspects," he added, without discernible emotion. Most of the time he had his anger about that under control because the results were ugly when he lost it, hard-won discipline flying out the window.

"You've never wanted to reopen the investigation? We could." Cowley wondered why it hadn't occurred to him before now. For Preston to have got away with it for so long other, more senior officers, must have been involved in the corruption. He should have thought of that when they were investigating who might be gunning for Doyle.

"I've thought about it. But they were better than Preston at covering their tracks. Probably had more practice. Besides..." Doyle's hand moved in a dismissive arc, "it was a relief not to have to think about them. It isn't as if I don't have a reminder every time I look in the mirror."

Cowley nodded. That betrayal of all he had held dear must have cut deep. Yet Doyle was still an idealist. Of sorts.

"Anyway," said Doyle briskly, "the point I was trying to make is that I've never understood the kind of blind loyalty that condones a bent copper, rather than wanting to weed him out. What I don't know is whether it's the same kind of all-for-one loyalty in the army."

It took a moment for Cowley to appreciate what Doyle was not saying. "You don't expect me to sit down for a heart-to-heart chat with Bodie?"

"That's the last thing he needs. That is, no, sir."

"Don't be disingenuous," Cowley advised him, before he poured himself a drink. "You're driving so you'd best not have another. What did you come here for?"

"Are you going to be sending Bodie back to the Centre for a 'make or break' session?"

"You don't think that's a good idea?" Cowley wondered if he was becoming too predictable.

"I'm not sure there's much point. Bodie will waltz through it. Certainly well enough to keep our favourite trickcylist happy. I was just wondering, will he be going through it alone?"

"You think he needs you to hold his hand?"

It belatedly occurred to Doyle that he could hardly ask Cowley for time to mend some fences with Bodie. Not least because he wasn't sure how they had got broken in the first place. Which was no help at all, of course.

"I can't afford to have the pair of you off the streets," added Cowley into the silence.

"I've got some leave due. Or you could just suspend me without pay for a week," suggested Doyle, resorting to desperate measures.

"On what grounds?"

"Dumb insolence?"

"Dumb would make a welcome change. Why are you so keen to go round with him again?"

"We've been teamed for a while. I've been taking that for granted. I'd like to..." Doyle shrugged and opted for the truth, "...mend a few fences."

Cowley considered that. "It happens," he conceded. "Though I can't say I've noticed any deterioration in your work, until now."

"Me neither," said Doyle pointedly.

"How do you imagine Bodie will enjoy having you arrange his life for him?"

"I'm hoping he need never know. With me suspended you save the cost of a week's salary. The cost of us at the Centre comes out of the Central budget not CI5's."

"How do you know that?"

"Oh, I listen to everything you tell us."

Cowley let the sarcasm pass this once. "You seem to have thought this through."

As he had been making it up as he went along, Doyle had the sense to keep quiet. This was more of a concession on Cowley's part that he had dared hope for; but then he had always thought the Old Man had a soft spot for Bodie.

"You'd better decide what you'll be saying Monday morning to earn that week's suspension," added Cowley. "Don't get too inventive."

"No, sir. Thanks."

"Then don't let me keep you," said Cowley pointedly.

Doyle gave a faint grin. "I just wanted to apologise for earlier."

"And not before time."

"I wasn't armed," Doyle added.

"I had managed to grasp that," said Cowley dryly. "Monday, 4.5."

 

 

Quiet as Doyle was when he entered his flat, he found himself staring down the barrel of his Colt Python. It pointed to the ground a second later as Bodie relaxed in the bedroom doorway.

"You can put that back where you found it," said Doyle mildly, heeling the door shut. A bulging laundry bag in one hand, the shopping was precariously clutched to his torso.

Bodie tucked Doyle's gun back in the holster hanging over the head of the bed and hurried down the hall to take the laundry bag from him before Doyle could drop the shopping."You've had a drink," he noted.

"True, and very nice it was."

"Where do you want the laundry to go?"

"My room for now."

As Bodie came back down the hall, Doyle tossed a packet of toilet rolls at him. Bodie caught them automatically.

"Stick those in the bog. Fancy some buttered toast? That takeaway we had seems like a distant memory," said Doyle.

Bodie lobbed the packet into the bathroom from where he stood and rubbed his hands together. "Great. Any scrambled eggs to go with it?"

"If you cook them. And I know you can, I've eaten the result."

While Doyle sat on the counter top to supervise the work, Bodie busied himself with the simple preparations, finding the various processes oddly relaxing, not least because of Doyle's unhelpful comments. The toast buttered and keeping warm under the grill, he passed half a slice to Doyle to keep him going, munching the other half himself as he whisked the eggs.

"I half thought you might have called in to see Sally," said Bodie, rummaging through Doyle's cupboards for the pepper mill.

"What, for a lobotomy? Or is that your subtle way of telling me you'd rather spend the rest of the evening with Jennifer?"

Bodie looked surprised. "No, this is great. Besides, I'm not good company at the moment."

"Thanks," said Doyle.

"That came out wrong but you know what I mean." Bodie eyed him thoughtfully, before returning his attention to the knob of butter melting in the pan. "You know that none of this is your fault."

"I'm glad you remembered that. You can mention it to Cowley come Monday morning. Your scores were off around the course and I didn't call you on it. Your scores are never off. Only we haven't been spending much time together since you met Jennifer and - "

"Jennifer?" Bodie turned, surprise on his face. "Don't get me wrong, I really enjoy her company but she's nothing serious. Not like you and Anne. Take the wine through, these eggs'll only take a second."

They sat, elbows on the table, as they shared a bottle of red, talking until the early hours about a possible biking trip around France next Spring.

"I'd best call a cab," said Bodie, stirring with obvious reluctance.

"And get out of the washing up? Nice try, mate. You're welcome to stop over and do it tomorrow morning. Only the right side of the bed is mine."

"I prefer the left anyway," lied Bodie. "OK."

Grateful for the undemanding company, if privately convinced that he wouldn't get a wink of sleep while sharing that big brass bed with its owner, Bodie barely stirred for the next six hours, the warmth of Doyle's pyjama clad backside firmly pressed against his own.

Doyle fell asleep just before dawn and awoke heavy-eyed to find Bodie beside him, oblivious. Situation normal in other words, he thought, as he quietly got up and pulled on some clothes.

"Where d'you get that bruise?" asked Bodie sleepily, as he gave a long stretch of lazy well-being.

Doyle peered at the purple mark visible above the waistband of his grey tracksuit bottoms. "Somewhere round one of the courses," he said without interest, pulling a pale grey top over his head. As if he couldn't remember Bodie so lost to the moment that he had lashed out at him.

"Where're you off to?"

"Thought I'd cheer myself up with a run around Brompton Cemetery."

"Necrophilia's dead boring."

Doyle stuck up two fingers.

"That's what I said," Bodie pointed out. "Only more politely. Want any company? We can call in at my place for my running gear."

"Sure." Doyle tried not to notice the way the pyjama bottoms clung to Bodie's arse and prick as he left the bed. When Bodie disappeared into the bathroom he resisted the impulse to bury his face in Bodie's pillow and inhale the sleep-warm scent of him.

Stubble rasping as he rubbed his hands over his face, Doyle went to make them both some tea, a standby which had seen the British through worse things than fancying their oblivious partner.

 

 

Bodie inhaled deeply and flung open his arms, almost hitting Doyle in the face. He didn't pretend it had been an accident. "Smell all that fresh air."

Doyle batted away his hand with a tolerant air. "There's less diesel fumes than usual, I'll concede."

"Right, can we go home now?"

Doyle grabbed hold of a fold of Bodie's black tee shirt. "Hold up. Not until you've done your health and beauty exercises. Stretch first, then jog, not race."

"Nag, nag, nag," said Bodie, but he had already begun to stretch his quads.

"It's your turn to pick the route," he added, five minutes later.

"Central Avenue first, then off to see my favourite angel," said Doyle.

"It's a bloke."

Doyle raised his eyebrows. "So?" He eased into a jog.

It was a moment before Bodie thought to catch up with him. "It's not so much that he's a bloke as that he's wearing the sort of dress my Gran would've been ashamed to be seen in."

"I didn't say it was perfect, just my favourite," said Doyle. He saw no need to add that something about the profile reminded him of Bodie when he was concentrating on something.

His attention attracted by hysterical barking from an over-excited Jack Russell, Bodie keep a beady eye on it and moved so that Doyle was between it and him. "All dogs hate me," he explained, his tone lugubrious.

"Well that one's too busy trying to climb a tree to notice you, so relax," said Doyle, as they veered off the main route through the cemetery.

They ran in silence, moving easily, the sound of bird song louder than the Sunday morning traffic.

Bodie was prepared to admit he was enjoying himself. The sun was warm on their faces, a gentle breeze blowing, while birds were tweeting their heads off in the trees and squirrels were busily doing whatever it was squirrels did. And Doyle was running in step at his side, perfectly in synch.

While they hadn't exchanged a word for almost twenty minutes it felt as if he was closer to Ray now than he had been since the advent of Anne Holly. Since before her, really. Not that Bodie had ever known what the problem was, just that he saw less and less of Doyle outside work, while mourning the loss of a connection between them that he had taken for granted until it was gone.

Now it was back. He knew it as surely as if he could see the link which bound them together.

They had been jogging for almost three-quarters of an hour, looping around the minor pathways, when they emerged out onto Central Avenue a couple of hundred yards from the South Gate. There were a lot more people about. And dogs, all of which ignored Bodie.

Doyle slowed to a walk, his top clinging damply to his torso, sweat gleaming on his face, at the base of his throat and along his bare forearms. His skin took colour quickly, his tan accentuated by the silver bangle he wore.

Bodie crouched down to make an unnecessary check on the laces of his trainers in case he gave in to the temptation to mouth that damp flesh before he unpeeled Ray from his clothes and sucked him off right here and now.

"No need to kneel for me," said Doyle kindly.

For a moment Bodie wondered if he could have betrayed himself. "Got delusions of grandeur, you have. Fancy going round again?"

"I'd love to, it's a beautiful morning for a run, but I've got to get the Suzuki and trailer back by one and the hire shop's out in the middle of nowhere. Teach me to take a bird's recommendation - it's run by a mate of Sally's brother, and it's on the other side of Theydon Bois."

"There are some decent pubs out that way," pointed out Bodie. "Want me to drive behind you so you can have a lift back? Save you taking the bike with you. All the Sunday drivers will be out, a nice day like today."

"Good thinking, Batman. What's the catch?" added Doyle with narrow-eyed suspicion.

"You buy me lunch," said Bodie, as they headed out to where Doyle had parked his car.

"OK."

Taken aback by the ease of his victory, Bodie eyed his partner thoughtfully and decided to milk this absurd guilt of Doyle's for all he was worth until Ray saw sense.

o0o

 

Bodie arrived on Doyle's front doorstep just before seven on Monday morning, playing a tune on a doorbell until an irritated tinny voice over the intercom said: "What?"

"'S me."

"Oh, joy. Come on up."

Electric razor in one hand, with half his face still dark with stubble, Doyle met him in the hall. "You're a bit keen, aren't you?"

"No food in," explained Bodie, brushing past him to head for the kitchen.

"Be my guest," said Doyle ironically. "I fancy eggs. I think there's bacon. There might even be tomatoes. Well, get crackin'. We'll need all our strength for the Old Man. "

 

 

Doyle peered out from under his hair. "I'm still not sure what I'm doing here."

Bodie gave him a grin in which affection was tinged with disbelief. "I told you to keep it buttoned but did you listen?"

Doyle shrugged and gave an engaging grin. "Do I ever?"

"Not in my experience. Still, it was almost worth it to see Cowley's expression. I wonder what Jack's got in store for us? It can't be anything good, he was looking far too pleased with himself."

"I hoped I was imagining things. I'm surprised he hasn't had us twice around the course already." Doyle had made a mental note never to bargain with Cowley again, certain that the devious old bugger had set him - them - up. He just wasn't sure how yet.

The door to the lounge opened and four men came into the room, followed by Jack Crane. The men were all over six feet, with shoulders like barn doors. Despite being out of uniform, the first two screamed 'army'.

"At least we know what hell will look like. I hope you're planning to protect me from those nasty rough types," murmured Doyle, aware of Bodie's warmth brushing his shoulder.

"Don't worry about these boys," said Crane. "You're all on the same side. More or less."

"How much less?" asked Bodie, his watchful gaze missing nothing.

Doyle was assessing the two he would take out, knowing Bodie would be doing the same for the other pair. It seemed only fair that Bodie's should be the biggest.

"Don't even think about it, gentlemen," said Crane, still wearing that same disquieting grin. "You'll need all your energy. I have a little competition in mind. Three teams of two, representing the army, CI5 and MI5, pitting their wits against each other."

Doyle snorted but fell silent when Bodie nudged him in the ribs.

"All of you have recently completed the course here, and had physical and psychological assessments made, the results of which are on record. Each team will spend seven days in an area designated by me, living off the land and your wits. You will have no contact with anyone from the outside world, nor will you resort to any criminal activity to survive. Cheat and you fail. Trust me, you do not want to fail. Your respective employers have a wager on you. A very large wager," Crane added.

"That doesn't sound like our revered leader," said Doyle.

"You're not suggesting that George Cowley is mean?" said Crane.

"Compared to who?" said Bodie.

"Then you'd better not lose," said Crane. "Each team will be dropped off in their designated area at precisely five o'clock this afternoon. You'll be collected at five p.m. next Sunday and brought back here to be re-tested and re-evaluated. The team with the best all round score wins."

"What's the prize?" asked the thickset Geordie.

"Wrong question. You should be wondering what the penalties are for failure. And not just from me. Though I'm sure Major Nairn won't mind losing. Too much."

Doyle glanced at Bodie. Not army, SAS.

"So there's no direct competition?" asked a swarthy man.

"None. And it's a team, not an individual effort. Right, it's lucky dip time to see where you're going. You feeling lucky, Bodie? And don't even think of being humorous. Trefoil next. Then you Jennings. Ah, C, B and A. As CI5 have drawn the easiest living, they'll be penalized - no emergency food supplies.

"Right, follow me so you can change and get kitted up. I'm a generous man, you can have lunch before you leave. Eat well, it will be the last decent meal you'll enjoy for a week. Each man will receive an identical kit, plus one luxury item of their choice from a selection we've prepared for you."

Stripped to their briefs, they were issued with walking boots, socks, camoflague trousers and jacket, a white tee shirt and a rucksack. Their equipment consisted of two tarpaulins, a generous length of rope, two ground sheets, two sleeping bags, two water containers, water purification tablets, flints, a metal pot, plate, mug and spoon and a serious looking knife with an eight inch blade so sharp that Doyle had already nicked his finger.

"I don't like this," said Bodie, his expression grim. "It's madness not to give us a compass."

"Don't you trust me?" said Crane.

"That's a rhetorical question, right?" said Doyle. They had no compass, gun, medical kit, food, matches, money, watch, clean clothes or wash kit, let alone a means of calling in if there was an emergency.

"When you go behind that curtain you'll see the luxury goods from which you can select one item and one item only. You'll make your choice in private, apart from me, of course. I don't trust you that much," said Crane jovially.

"Frilly knickers time, is it?" said Bodie, as Doyle went in first.

Doyle studied the selection without enthusiasm: a roll of soft toilet paper; a pair of clean socks; a toothbrush; a two hundred and fifty gram bar of seventy per cent dark chocolate; a bag of ground coffee; a packet of PG tips tea bags; or a teddy bear.

 

 

Transported in the back of a windowless van, Bodie and Doyle dozed for most of the journey, propped against one another, their feet on their rucksacks, keeping conversation to a minimum while they had company because Jack Crane could be a tricky bastard.

The van finally slowed and after a lot of jolting came to a final halt.When the rear doors opened sunlight flooded in, making them shield their eyes.

"Here we are, home sweet home. I'll collect you from this spot next Sunday, five p.m. Jack said to remind you that you're not to leave the wood and that Cowley has a lot of money riding on you two. Break the rules or fail and he loses the lot. Have fun," said Derek Waller, with a cheeriness which made Doyle want to knee him in the bollocks.

When the van had disappeared down the track barely wide enough to accommodate it, Bodie set down his rucksack and took stock.

"It could be worse," he said, having checked out the clearing in which they stood. Beyond that, stretching out in every direction, was mixed woodland. It was very quiet now the van had gone.

"At least we know which way the road must be," said Doyle.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves and branches of the vast beech tree under which they were standing, lighting his upturned face. Bodie caught his breath, sabotaged by a familiar mixture of lust and longing.

"This is nice. I was braced for some godforsaken mountainside," said Doyle. "But am I the only one who smells a set-up?"

"No, so we'd best be prepared for anything."

"I should've been a Girl Guide."

"You haven't got the knees to carry off a skirt." Bodie waved away some gnats dancing in front of his face. "It's lucky we had an enormous lunch. While there will be stuff to eat this time of the year, it isn't likely to be what you could call filling. Jack frisked me before I left the canteen," he added sadly.

"I must have a more trustworthy face." Doyle rummaged through various pockets in the combat jacket he was wearing. He produced a banana, two oranges, three portions of cream crackers, four plastic wrapped portions of anaemic looking cheese and six sachets of sugar.

"Not bad," said Bodie condescendingly, before he produced twice the amount of cheese and biscuits, seven sachets of sugar and two bread rolls.

"I thought you said Jack frisked you?"

"He did. I nicked this lot off that MI5 twerp," smirked Bodie.

"And they said you were just a pretty face. At least we won't starve. What do we do first? I could murder a cup of tea."

"Well, to start with, we stop thinking about the things we don't have."

"You sound like one of those self-help books."

"They occasionally get something right. What's the most important thing we need?"

"Water?" Doyle swallowed a flippant comment because Bodie was taking this so seriously.

"Very good, Raymondo."

"Would William like a smack in the mouth?" enquired Doyle mildly.

"Don't be like that. Yeah, we need to find fresh drinking water. You did think to fill your water container?"

Doyle looked pained.

"Just checking. I know you haven't done this sort of thing before. There must be a supply of fresh water or they wouldn't have left us here. Not for a week."

"Why did they give us the water purification tablets? It's not like we're going up the Orinoco."

"You don't need to, you can get some really disgusting bugs right here in England. Don't drink any water that hasn't been boiled, unless you want to spend a week with the runs. Or worse."

"Lovely." Doyle breathed in the scent of an English wood in early autumn. The rich, musty smell made him feel hungry, despite their large lunch, but he kept the thought to himself. He propped one shoulder against the trunk of the beech tree, legs crossed at the ankles. "This is as good as a holiday to you, isn't it," he said without accusation.

Bodie swung back to him with a rueful grin. "Afraid so. I've always been interested in how people live off the land. For real, I mean. I even took a survival holiday up in Scotland a couple of years back. Which, as it happens, might come in handy. You can moan for both of us."

"I probably will when hunger sets in. In the meantime, I can think of worse places to spend a week."

"Unpaid," Bodie reminded him.

Doyle shrugged. "It's preferable to a week in Jack's company. And at least a wood offers some protection if the weather turns. Where do you reckon we are? From the speed the van was going we can't be more than one hundred and fifty miles from the Centre - always supposing Derek didn't just drive around in circles. For the bet to work this wood can't be open to the public."

"It could be MOD property. The army owns a fair swathe of this green and pleasant land."

"So they can practice blowing it up." Doyle's eyes widened. "Even Jack Crane wouldn't put us in the middle of a minefield, would he?"

"With what it cost to train us? Cowley wouldn't let him. We could be on someone's private estate. In which case we might be dining on pheasant tonight."

"Only if they're in season, or whatever it's called. Otherwise we're breaking the law and we lose."

"They need never know."

"Feathers are tricky things to hide." Doyle started taking off items of clothing and checking each piece, paying particular attention to the seams. He found a tracking device in the false bottom of a pocket in his rucksack and held it out to Bodie, who immediately searched his own.

"There's no point putting them in our rucksacks," said Doyle, renewing his search. "We wouldn't necessarily carry them with us all the time. Certainly not if we were skiving off." He found the second device in the decorative curl on his belt buckle.

"I vote we leave these here as two fingers to Crane, but that we stick to the rules. For now," said Bodie.

"It could bring someone in to check on us."

"They could do that anyway. We'll be ready for them."

"Two fingers it is." The tracking devices stored by the beech tree which was to be their collection point, Doyle straightened. "How do we go about finding water?"

"Easy," said Bodie, shrugging back into his rucksack and gesturing for Doyle to do the same. "We go looking for it."

Doyle failed to smother his grin in time. "You realise I may be forced to kill you before the week's out?"

"Maybe that's Cowley's secret plan. Keep an eye out for anything edible on the way. At least there's plenty of dead wood for the fire. How are you with two flints?"

"Oh no, mate. This is your field of expertise, not mine. I'll collect the wood, you work out how to burn it."

Doyle followed in Bodie's footsteps down a narrow trail obviously made by some animal, feeling ridiculously light-hearted considering it would be dark in a couple of hours and they had yet to find water or set up camp.

Bodie continued to point out sources of food, none of which were particularly inviting - or filling.

"Hey, mushrooms," Doyle called, easing through brambles whose fruit had already finished.

"Don't touch!" said Bodie sharply.

Doyle straightened. "It's a toadstool?"

"I'm not sure. It was summer when I did my course and there were none around. I tried reading up on them but the differences can be hard to spot. To be on the safe side, ignore them all. Some are deadly, like Death Caps. No known antidote and a lingering end."

"I can take or leave mushrooms at the best of times," said Doyle equably. "What are those black things over there?"

"Wild damsons. Don't try to eat them raw, they'll be as sour as buggery but cooked with that sugar we nicked..."

"They'll still be disgusting."

"Probably," said Bodie. "We'll leave them for a last resort. The crackers and cheese will give us some fat and carbs each day and it's only a week."

"Did you have to remind me? I'd just managed to forget that part."

Bodie had quickened his pace. "The sun'll be setting just before seven. If we don't find water soon we'll have to set up a temporary camp while there's still some light."

To his relief they came upon a fast flowing stream ten minutes later.

"This is great," said Bodie with enthusiasm. "The water quality is good enough for the chance of some fish. Maybe even trout."

"Something smells nice," said Doyle, crouching down. "Oh, hang on. Isn't this mint?"

"Great. Mint tea with our cheese and biscuits. Set up camp first." Bodie strode off to find somewhere that met his high standards, Doyle a constant two paces behind.

"This is relatively high ground. Close to the stream without being too close. Plenty of dead wood. And if we camp by that old oak we can use those branches which are almost on the ground to give us added shelter. That breeze will get nippy when the sun goes down but it's from the west this time of year, so we'll face the entrance of the shelter to the east. Be able to watch the sun rise," Bodie added happily.

"So, this shelter we're going to make," said Doyle, trying to sound equally enthusiastic.

"It'll be more of a glorified windbreak really. One curved wall of tarpaulin, the other piece fixed over the top to form a roof - it's bound to rain sometime this week. At least we've got plenty of rope. We'll need something to dig with for all the supports."

"You find them, I'll check the stream for any likely stones. Unless we whittle ourselves a spade."

It was only when he looked up from preparing the stakes he had cut from a nearby willow that Bodie realised Doyle was serious. "You've never been on a survival course, have you?"

"Only on the streets," said Doyle, easy with the admission of ignorance because it was made to Bodie. "Not quite that simple?"

"I wish it was. Still, you won't get cold."

"Is this your way of breaking it to me that I'm going to be doing the hard work while you tell me what to do?"

"Unless you're any good at making fire with flints."

"Like cavemen?"

"Well, preferably without all the excess hair and grunts." His eyes sparkling, Bodie looked relaxed, happy and full of confidence.

With an odd little lurch of the heart it occurred to Doyle that it was some time since he had seen Bodie look so carefree. "I'll have a go later. What do you want me to do first?"

It was no surprise to either of them that they worked well together; they always had, even in the first difficult days of competition and testing one another. Warmed by their exertions, they surveyed their shelter with pride. It was big enough to hold the two of them, the curve of the 'wall' giving the illusion of space. The ground sheets ensured the site was fully waterproof and their sleeping bags were laid out invitingly. The entrance was partly protected by the sweep of a branch, beyond which was their fire ring, complete with the tripod Bodie had fashioned. Doyle had collected plenty of dry leaves, kindling and larger pieces of wood. There were even log seats, of a kind.

In between sips of the water they had brought with them, they discovered that making fire took longer than anticipated.

"I could've sworn I saw a spark just then," said Doyle. Crouched beside Bodie, he was hooked by the ancient lure.

The light was almost gone by this time but there was just enough for Bodie to see the relaxed warmth of Doyle's face. It was also clear that he was longing to try for himself.

"You have a go," Bodie said, handing over the flints with only a small pang of regret. "We've got plenty of water for tonight. If necessary, we'll make do with using the purification tablets. It isn't as if we've got anything to cook yet."

Thirty five minutes later they had a fire, or rather a smouldering leaf, and Doyle looked as proud as if he had just invented the wheel.

"There's a ridiculous sense of achievement about making fire," he said. He cupped his hands around the leaf as he blew gently on it until the smoulder turn to a flame.

"Don't get too cocky, it may not take," Bodie warned him.

Ten minutes later they were waiting for the water to boil as they ate a stale roll and half a portion of cheese each.

"The wood doesn't seem nearly so quiet at night," said Doyle, resisting the urge to check that there was nothing sneaking up behind him.

"That's because it's when the predators come out."

"You had to go and say that, didn't you. We'd best hang the rucksack holding the food from a branch, out of their way. Reminds me, I've got a pressie for you." Doyle rummaging through his virtually empty rucksack to produce the bar of chocolate he had selected for his luxury. "There you go, mate. Knock yourself out."

"You're a star." Bodie was counting squares. "Great, one piece each for six days. We'll start it tomorrow. Unless you want some now?"

"I got it for you."

Bodie's expression softened. "Yeah, I know you did. But we share everything straight down the middle, same as always. Here, I got you a pressie too."

Speechless, Doyle stared at the roll of soft toilet paper. "You gave up food for this?"

"I've got sensitive skin," said Bodie defensively.

"And a partner who plays merry hell without certain basics," said Doyle, under no illusions. "Thanks."

Given the facilities available to them, preparing for bed didn't take long. Doyle cleaned his teeth with a grubby index finger and some mint leaves before he stripped down to his briefs and slid into his sleeping bag while Bodie made up the fire.

"What if it goes out in the night?" said Doyle.

"You don't seriously think you'll be comfortable enough to sleep the night through?"

"Right now I'm knackered. It must be all this fresh air because we haven't done much. Except to make fire, of course."

"I can tell you who'll be roasted over it if you don't give it a rest," said Bodie, but his grin was indulgent. Truth be told, he had never imagined Ray would take so well to life in the great outdoors. He liked his creature comforts, did Ray, though he enjoyed playing the country gent too, just so long as he had a comfortable house to go back to at the end of the day.

With a silky rustle Bodie made himself comfortable in his sleeping bag, only a few inches away from his partner's. "I would say 'Don't let the bedbugs bite' but in the circumstances..."

 

 

With a belated calm Doyle turned to where Bodie sat. "You're not going to try and convince me that was a squirrel with a bald tail, are you?"

"In the circumstances, no. Are you all right?"

"Lovely. Nothing I enjoy more than a rat falling on top of my head. Did it get to the food?"

"No. I'll tuck that rucksack in mine and bring them in here with us. It's probably the chocolate they can smell. It didn't bite you, did it?"

"Only the sleeping bag. My manly scream obviously frightened it," said Doyle wryly, because there was no face-saving way out of this.

"I should've thought when we set out the sleeping bags. It'll make more sense to have our feet by the entrance." Bodie did not feel it necessary to add that he hadn't wanted to criticise Doyle's camp-making abilities unless absolutely necessary. Besides, he'd liked Ray's idea of wanting to see the stars...

While Bodie wrestled with the rucksacks, Doyle rearranged the sleeping bags, grateful for the chance to ensure there were no more rats in their shelter. In the distance he heard the unearthly cry of an owl and gave an involuntary shiver. Beyond the shadows cast by the fire the darkness was total. It occurred to him how naked he felt without his gun.

"I always forget how dark it is as soon as you get away from town," he said, wondering if he was imagining sounds of movement in the undergrowth. "I suppose you got used to it when you were in Africa."

"And during training with the SAS. Go back to sleep. I'll take the first watch."

"Against what?" Doyle hoped he didn't sound as out of his depth as he felt.

"I'd just like the excuse to sit up by the campfire," said Bodie with truth. "Besides, apart from finding stuff to eat we've nothing to do but explore. I can grab a nap any time."

Doyle made himself comfortable again, drowsily watching Bodie's silhouette in the flickering light of the fire until he sank into sleep.

Bodie made himself some mint tea, grimaced and reminded himself it was an acquired taste. He began to whittle some clothes pegs by the light of the fire. But every so often he allowed himself the luxury of watching Doyle's sleeping face.

 

 

"What the fuck is making all that noise?" groaned Doyle pathetically, as he peered out from the sleeping bag like a particularly grumpy tortoise from its shell.

"It's just the bird song you liked so much yesterday afternoon."

"Wish I had my gun with me, I'd give them singing."

"You couldn't shoot them all."

"I could have a bloody good try. Shouldn't they be asleep? It's still pitch black."

"They're staking claim to their territory. Stuff some loo paper in your ears and go back to sleep."

"What about you?"

"I'm fine," said Bodie. He had no intention of admitting what a kick he was getting out of watching over Doyle's sleep.

"Yeah?"

"Really enjoying myself, if you must know."

"You must've been dropped on your head as a baby. Wake me if you fancy a kip," commanded Doyle. Secure in the knowledge that Bodie was guarding him from marauding wildlife, he didn't stir until startled awake by the hoarse scream of a vixen.

Doyle abandoned thoughts of sleep after that. Wrapped in his sleeping bag, he shuffled over to where Bodie sat and subsided next to him. They sat shoulder to shoulder, watching the sun come up, as they sipped some disgustingly sweet mint tea.

"'S not bad this," said Bodie with heavy-eyed contentment.

"Definitely dropped on your head as a baby," said Doyle, but he smiled when he said it.

Bodie leant forward to put another piece of wood on the fire. "We are OK, aren't we?" Seemingly intent on the task, he didn't look up.

"We're fine," said Doyle easily. "Just got a bit out of step, that's all. 'Course, if you just did as I say all the time..."

Bodie was grinning as he sat up but there was something about the intensity of his gaze which made Doyle start to hope all over again. He was just summoning the courage to say something when copious amounts of pigeon faeces landed between them.

"I hate nature," said Doyle, after some thought.

"Never mind, when we get back to civilisation you can think of all the ways to destroy it. If we had a slingshot we could try killing the little bleeder than did that."

Doyle was peering upwards. "Not so little. What about knicker elastic, think that would do it?"

There was a moment when Bodie thought he was serious.

They breakfasted on a square of dark chocolate and half a banana each before, by mutual agreement, they started to explore their new domain, gathering beech nuts, crab apples and blackberries on the way. As so often, they communicated in glances rather than speech, the silence between them relaxed and comfortable.

While there were plenty of birds around there was nothing on ground level that looked worth killing for its meat.

"I thought there would be rabbits," said Doyle mournfully, as he held back a tangle of brambles while Bodie dug up something whose root he swore was edible.

"Myxomatosis saw to a lot of them. There are still outbreaks today. I swear that was the entrance to a badger sett that I saw back there." Bodie paused to gesture vaguely.

"What do badgers taste like?"

"You can't kill a - Well, I suppose we could," said Bodie, looking queasy.

"You don't fancy the idea?"

"Not a lot. I've never heard of anyone eating them. I'm not even sure how we'd get close enough to kill one. Anyway, I think they carry TB."

"That's badger off the menu then. Just as well. I've just remembered, there was a badger in 'Wind in the Willows'. I loved that book as a kid. Always liked the idea of Ratty and Mole living together. Hey, up! Am I hallucinating or is that a pear tree over there?"

"You're not and it is. We're going to dine like kings."

They ploughed through the undergrowth to stand beneath it. Bodie linked his hands. "Up you go."

"Why me?"

"Because if I fall out of the tree I might hurt myself."

"Oh. I never thought of that," grinned Doyle. Accepting the hand up, he nimbly climbed until the best pears were within easy reach, placing them in the rucksack Bodie tossed to him.

As soon as he was back on the ground Doyle handed a pear to Bodie, gave his own a cursory wipe on his grubby trousers and took a large bite. Juice trickled down his chin and he flicked out his tongue to capture it.

"This is fantastic," he said, his voice muffled by the size of the bite he had taken.

"Yeah. Lucky it's one of the early varieties or it wouldn't be ripe yet." Having eaten everything but the stalk, Bodie was about to take another pear when his attention was distracted.

"Oy, where are you off to?" asked Doyle.

"I've just seen an apple tree. Real apple rather than those sour little ones. This wood must have encroached into an old orchard. Things are looking up."

"All we need is a bacon butty tree and we're set."

They arrived back at the campsite in time to save the fire from going out. Once they had seen to that, they went down to the stream for more water and to test their fishing skills.

Doyle grabbed Bodie's arm. "Did you see that flash of blue? What is it, an escaped budgie?"

Bodie was smiling. "No, mate, that was a kingfisher. And where there's a kingfisher it stands to reason there must be fish." He was pulling off his boots and socks as he spoke, before he unfastened his trousers, folding them neatly on top. Clad only in a once white tee shirt and navy briefs, he waded into the stream, grimacing when he trod on a more pointed stone.

Doyle tried not to fixate on Bodie's thighs and busied himself searching along the bank for wild sorrel.

After twenty minutes Bodie's feet were numb. He climbed out to sit beside Doyle, drying his feet on his tee shirt. "There's quite a few," he said nonchalantly.

Doyle peered at the fish swimming around the metal pot. "You did well."

"Nice try at sincerity but sneeze and they'll blow off the plate. Shall we put them back?" said Bodie with resignation, prepared to admit that only innate stubbornness had kept him fishing.

Doyle leant down and tilted the bowl, watching their miniscule dinner dart away.

"Have an apple," he said hospitably.

"Bugger apples. I swear that's a trout hiding in the shadow of those leaves hanging over the water. See?" Bodie eased back into the stream, his face intent.

 

 

"I caught 'em, I get to cook them," insisted Bodie, as they headed back to camp with the prepared trout. "Wilted sorrel, wild garlic, steamed burdock root and trout, followed by pears and blackberries."

"My hero. I might keep you after all."

"What were you going to do with me then?"

"Hire you out."

"Stud fees?" Bodie preened. "Not a bad idea. How much d'you reckon I'd be worth?"

"Two p," said Doyle promptly.

"Or not two p, that is the question."

Bodie looked so pleased with himself that Doyle forgot to groan and just grinned back.

 

 

For someone who went to some lengths to avoid cooking when at home, Bodie was obviously in his element in this makeshift kitchen, humming tunelessly under his breath as he worked with a deft certainty. Doyle had always enjoyed seeing things done well and Bodie had the ability to turn mundane actions into an art form. In this instance Doyle was just grateful that one of them knew what they were doing in this alien environment, but then Bodie was one of the most competent people he had ever met.  
The smell of the trout cooking over the birch twig griddle was just starting to make their mouths water when it began to rain. After a few warning drops, it came down so hard and so fast that they didn't have time to get under shelter.

The fire died, the fish were washed into the ash and they were soaked, any exposed skin stinging from the impact of the rain; the temperature plummeted. Water streaming down his face, his sodden clothing clinging to him, Bodie looked at Doyle.

"Fancy a quick burst of 'Singing in the Rain'? What the hell are you doing?" he added, as Doyle began to strip.

"I'm cold, I'm soaking wet and I'm starting to smell so I thought I might as well wash out my socks and briefs. The tee shirt too. With luck our combat jackets and sleeping bags will be dry back under the shelter. Oh, I hope they are," Doyle added woefully, as water rolled down his nose to drip off the end.

Stark naked, he stood doing his smalls in the downpour, before hanging them from a narrow branch close to their shelter, using some of the wooden pegs Bodie had whittled.

"You're insane," said Bodie lovingly, just before he followed suit.

 

 

Huddled together in their shelter which, thanks to Bodie's thoroughness in constructing it, was dry, they were naked except for their combat jackets and sleeping bags. They dined on crackers, cheese and half an orange each. Then Doyle began to tell a ghost story, one of the urban legends about a lone driver caught in fog on a lonely road. Bodie, who was beginning to feel his sleepless night, dozed off to the sound of Doyle's voice.

The weight of Bodie's sleeping head against his thigh, Doyle sat staring out into the darkness, listening to the rain beating against the tarpaulin. Damp, chilly and sick of flavourless cheese and stale crackers, he allowed his fingers to brush the damp silk of Bodie's hair and knew why he felt so content.

o0o

The second day was miserable. Their clothes still sodden and the temperature chilly, the constant rain kept them in their shelter, except for quick dashes outside to relieve themselves.

"It's lucky we've still got plenty of food," said Doyle, sliding back into his sleeping bag, having dried off the worst of the rain with his combat jacket. "What are you making?"

"What does it look like?"

Doyle studied it. "A loo roll holder."

"Spot on. Thought you'd like it for Christmas."

"It's where I'll be putting it that you might want to worry about. Wish we were bright enough to play chess in our heads."

"You mean you can't?" said Bodie, surprised.

He almost had Doyle for a few seconds.

"You can't even play chess. These clothes pegs you made aren't bad," Doyle added, turning one between his fingers.

"I know. That's my future sorted. Gypsy Rose Bodie. Telling fortunes and selling clothes pegs."

"You're more the crystal balls type. Can just see you in a head scarf. Have you ever thought about what you'll do when we have to pack in the A Squad?"

"Nah. Seems like bad luck to think about it."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Trouble is, I don't want to do anything else. Well, not for a long time any way."

"Not surprised. We're bloody good at our jobs," said Bodie matter-of-factly.

"The best. That's the other reason I didn't tackle you on what might be wrong."

"Eh?" Bodie paused in his whittling.

"I was pissed off with you for mucking up our perfect ten average around the course. I've got used to being part of the best."

"Me, too. We might be good apart, but together we're something special." Bodie looked up then and saw something on Doyle's face which took his breath away.

His palms sweating, his mouth dry, his voice didn't seem to belong to him when he said: "I've been a bit slow on the uptake, haven't I," he recognised. "Only I thought it was just me seeing what I wanted most."

While Doyle didn't even twitch, the change in his expression was like watching the sun come out in the middle of a grey December day.

Bodie remembered to set down his knife, then leant forward the necessary few inches to kiss him.

That first kiss, tentative as it was, laid Doyle bare to his foundations.

He gave a little grunt of contentment, one arm going around Bodie to draw him closer.

Their second kiss was the kind which left Bodie expecting to hear angels singing Hosannas.

After their third they were both a bit dizzy.

Then Bodie's arms locked around Doyle in the hug of hugs and Doyle found a way to lock them even tighter together as they breathed in the reality of one another.

"God, you stink," said Bodie fondly, some time later.

"And this is only the second day," pointed out Doyle. "At least we both taste of mint. Careful! If we so much as brush that tarpaulin we'll be flooded out. This is terrible timing on our part."

"That's the only thing that's wrong with this," said Bodie, in the tone which had never brooked any argument. "It's been a long time coming. Too bloody long. Didn't realise you were so slow on the uptake."

"Sorry," said Doyle, with suspect meekness, kissing him again. "You can blame it on me, if you like."

"Blimey." Duly impressed, Bodie stared at him. "It must be love."

"That's what I thought," admitted Doyle, "but there's no need to kick a bloke when he's going down. That is... "

"You must tell me more. That slip was so broad Freud would disown it." Bodie was smiling too much to be able to kiss Doyle.

"Prefer practical demonstrations myself." Doyle leant in to nuzzle Bodie's chin.

Stubble scraped across stubble, but it didn't stop them for more than a second or two. They had always been good at improvising.

"Don't take this the wrong way," said Bodie, sounding breathless when they came up for air, "but I reckon we should take this slowish until we've been assessed, what with Crane, Hedley and Kate Ross to face."

"Not to mention Cowley at the end of it. I think we should tell him."

"I don't see that we have any option," agreed Bodie without enthusiasm. "If we keep quiet it it's like saying we think it's something to be ashamed of. Besides, he'll find out eventually. He always does."

"Yeah.I can't pretend I like the idea though. Private life is supposed to be just that."

"Come off it, Ray. It doesn't happen in our line of work. Are you worried about what he might say, or do?"

Doyle didn't even have to think about it. "No. He's not that important. The only people who can cock things up between us is us. Anyway, there's nothing for him to get his knickers in a knot about, it's not as if you're a wild fling on my part."

"Or mine. Wish I'd twigged sooner," mourned Bodie.

"Me, too. We could be snug in my bed."

"With real food. I could murder a sausage sandwich with brown sauce."

"I thought we weren't supposed to think about food?"

"If I can't have you I should at least be able to fantasise."

"You can't fantasise about me?" asked Doyle, miffed.

"Best not. In the circumstances."

"Suppose not. It's a bit like being fourteen years old again," mused Doyle. "All that nervy excitement and sweaty palms. I hope I make a better showing than I did back then. My first time wasn't what you could call spectacular."

"I'd know you were lying if you said it was. We'll be fine. After all, you've got me to see you right. Mind the tarp," Bodie added hurriedly.

"Chicken."

"All that grappling flesh can only end in one thing..."

"And that would be a bad thing because?"

"We're supposed to be taking our time," Bodie reminded him patiently. "My first girlfriend made me wait seven weeks with nothing more than kissing and the odd touch."

"How odd?" enquired Doyle with interest.

"Not nearly as odd as I'd been hoping for."

"I'm not going to have to wait seven weeks, am I?" said Doyle, appalled.

Bodie grinned, his thumb stroking along Doyle's jaw line. "Never thought I'd hear you volunteer to be thought of as easy."

"Me neither. I blame you."

"I can see that becoming a familiar refrain down the years." Bodie realised what he had said and shot Doyle a look.

"'Course," said Doyle instantly. "I''d hardly be suggesting telling Cowley about a quick leg-over. As for waiting, I can think of plenty of ways to avoid any tell-tale signs, so long as we're careful to watch out for stubble burn. Particularly with your sensitive skin." He gave a slow smile when he saw Bodie's pupils respond and had to kiss him again.

"Is it still raining?" he asked, as Bodie stroked down his spine, making him shiver.

"Pouring."

"Then let's go outside and make love in the rain. Nothing complicated. Just skin on skin and mouths and hands and - "

Bodie shrugged off the covers and was on his feet, his body betraying just how interested he was.

Sheltered by the great oak, whose bark scraped his bare back while his toes curled in dead leaves, Doyle was focussed on the man kneeling at his feet. He inhaled sharply as Bodie took him in, one hand against Bodie's face, feeling his cheek hollowing and the warm palm stroking his flank. Then, second by second, he lost the ability to think at all, repeating Bodie's name like a mantra.

o0o

The third day started magnificently.

His hand curved around Bodie's now lax prick, Doyle took his time to lick him clean, revelling in every small point of contact, and the relaxed satiation of Bodie's face as he lay on the tangle of sleeping bags.

"Looks like it's going to be a gorgeous day." Doyle settled on his back, one leg hooked over Bodie's, muscles fluttering as Bodie stroked his still damp belly.

"And it's stopped raining," said Bodie, his eyes closed. "'Spect it'll soon be time for breakfast."

Doyle shook his head indulgently and got up to see if he could get the fire going. On this occasion it took him under five minutes and he was unbearably smug as he pottered around the campsit. He even remembered to move their still sodden clothing into a sunnier spot.

"It feels odd to eat chocolate for breakfast," said Doyle, who had forgotten to make his square last.

"Then get stuck into the pears. There's two each. How are our clothes doing?"

"Give them a chance," said Doyle, polishing off the rest of his meal with despatch. "While they're drying we can get the chores out the way to free up the rest of the day." While underslept, his mood was as sunny as the weather. Wearing only his boots, he picked up the rucksack; while pleasing, the effect was decidedly surreal.

"But you're naked," said Bodie, seemingly unaware that so was he.

"I'm glad you noticed that."

"We can't go wandering through the woods stark naked."

"Why not?"

"Well, if the distraction of watching you doesn't get me killed, I'll end up with sunburn in delicate areas, bitten to pieces and possibly stung by nettles in places you might want to play with later."

"I forgot that you really do have sensitive skin. Though how you managed in Africa..."

"I kept my clothes on, for a start. Besides, if I have to follow your naked arse all day I'll be a gibbering wreck," said Bodie frankly.

"Oh." Doyle looked endearingly taken aback for a man never slow to maximise his potential. "I never thought of that." His gaze settled on Bodie with no attempt at subtlety.

"I haven't got the energy for much," Bodie warned, correctly interpreting that look. "Still...we needn't let that stop us."

o0o

By the sixth day the novelty of all the peace and quiet was wearing thin, probably influenced by the fact they were living on nothing but fruit and the tiny trout Bodie managed to catch.

"I said we should've made the chocolate last," said Doyle, not for the first time.

"It was melting in the heat. Besides, there's only one more day to go. I'll be glad when we can get rid of these beards. D'you fancy finding out exactly how far this wood extends? We could follow the stream - see where it takes us - and if we see a sheep in a field I vote we - "

" - shag it?"

Bodie choked into his mint tea. "And you claim mercenaries are a funny lot."

It was midday by the time they reached the edge of the wood, gazing out over unkempt fields bisected by hedgerows, with neither livestock nor crops visible.

"This must be someone's estate," said Bodie. "Someone with a lot of money if they can afford to leave all this land fallow. Look, there's even more woodland over that way."

"Still can't hear or see any traffic either. Plenty of birds though," said Doyle, yet to learn to love the pre-dawn chorus which was giving him bags under his eyes.

"Can you smell smoke?"

"Now you mention it, yes. It can't be from our fire."

"Could be gypsies, or campers."

It was then that Bodie saw the light flash on something metallic. "Ssh."

Doyle fell silent, his watchful gaze sweeping the horizon.

"It's Morse code," said Bodie. "SOS. Have you got that mug? I should be able to catch the sun with it if I climb that tree on the opposite side of the stream."

"It's Trefoil," Bodie reported, some time later as he brushed scraps of bark from his chest. "His mate fell out a tree, broke his leg for sure, plus he thinks he's concussed. To top it all, he's got malaria, and at the moment he's off his head, which is why Trefoil can't leave him."

"It could be a trick, of course but if it isn't that bloke needs help fast. To save time one of us should set off straight away, while the other goes over to them. I reckon our best bet is that track by the beech tree. You want me to go?"

"No, your first aid's better than mine. I'll be as quick as I can. I'll grab one of our tracking devices on the way. It might set up an alert back at the Centre, given that we haven't been wearing them."

"Hey, take this." Doyle unfastened his hair, which he had tied back before they went to the Centre. He handed Bodie two twenty pound notes.

"I'm glad you're on our side," said Bodie, taking them. "See you later."

Doyle was already running up the slope to the edge of the wood sheltering the SAS team.

 

 

It was almost five that afternoon by the time the Land Rover arrived at the country hospital to collect Bodie and Doyle. By that time they knew that Herrick, Trefoil's partner, would be fine, and had even had a late lunch of hospital canteen food bad enough to make them think wistfully of trout and wild garlic.

As they strolled into the Centre Jack Crane looked at them without enthusiasm. "Shower, shave and change. You've got some explaining to do."

"Injured man more important than a bet. Explanation over," said Bodie.

"What he said," added Doyle, heading off to the locker room to collect their belongings.

They spent almost twenty minutes revelling in the hot water.

"Though I can't say I like the idea of MI5 winning," said Bodie, zipping up his wash kit while he waited for Doyle to finish shaving.

"I wonder where they were located. Reminds me, where's my change from that forty quid? Even hospital food doesn't cost that much."

Bodie looked wounded. "Don't you trust me?"

"Not after all the money I've lost to you over the years." Doyle gave a resigned sigh. "You gave it to Trefoil, didn't you?"

"Have a heart, Ray. He didn't want to leave Herrick there on his tod."

"Because SAS men are known for their nervous dispositions." Doyle gave a lengthy stretch. "I'm never going to take hot water and clean clothes for granted again. Right, let's go and find Jack. Sooner the tests are over with, the sooner we can go home."

"You can go now, if you want," said Crane, arriving in time to hear that. "The tests are off."

"How come?" asked Bodie, as they left the shower block.

"Those twats from MI5 saw the SOS and decided it must be a hoax, so they stayed where they were."

"Wouldn't expect anything else from that lot," dismissed Bodie with contempt.

"Majors Nairn and Cowley called off the bet and declared a draw between the SAS and CI5. You're both due back at work Monday morning. So unless you're anxious to redo the course, push off and enjoy your leave. Though I have to say, I can't remember ever seeing the pair of you this relaxed. I hope you haven't lost your edge."

"On the contrary," said Doyle.

"Sharper than ever," added Bodie, aware of the connection between them shining brightly.

"Yeah, I believe you," said Crane. "Though it goes against the grain. We might have to think about doing this more often. I forgot. Do you boys want a meal here before you leave? Though you look in pretty good shape."

They didn't even need to exchange a glance.

"The food's better in the real world," said Doyle. "Cheers, Jack. See you next year."

 

 

They arrived back at Doyle's flat just before eleven, having stopped off for the meal of their dreams on the way home.

"Still got three days leave," said Doyle, setting the security lock.

"The only question is whether we spend them at home or away."

"I can't see Cowley giving us time off in the immediate future. We should make the most of it. Plenty of time for a takeaway and bed while we're working. Where do you want to go?"

"How about the Ashdown Forest?" said Bodie, straight-faced.

"That's heath land, clever clogs."

"The New Forest?"

Doyle narrowed his eyes.

"Or the Forest of Dean?" said Bodie, dancing back out of reach. "Sherwood Forest. Forest Hill"

"Now you're getting desperate," said Doyle, continuing his slow advance.

Bodie backed into an armchair, lost his balance and any hope of defending himself.

o0o

They spent the three days in Doyle's flat, venturing out only for food and to track down an elusive brand of whisky.

Eventually they located a bottle of Balvenie single barrel malt whisky at an expensive off-licence opposite the Royal Courts of Justice. It took them far longer to find a plastic cherub that was no more than a couple of inches high.

"Are you sure I can't shoot it?" said Bodie, cursing as he tried to tie the silver ribbon around its plump, overly-pink ankle.

"Positive after the job we had to find one. We said we'd be upfront with the Old Man. This way he can decide what he wants to do about us without officially being told anything."

"Fifty pence says any decision he makes won't include us being given a glass of this," said Bodie.

"That's a certainty. We could get another bottle if you're desperate to try it."

"Going to spoil me, are you?"

Doyle ignored the lure of a familiar insult. "I might just do that. Fancy taking me to bed?"

"You might have the decency to pretend my answer might be in doubt."

"Had enough of doubt, thank you very much."

Bodie's expression softened and he padded over to him, one hand easing open buttons of the fine corduroy cream shirt, while the other brushed the side of Doyle's face. "Daft pillock," he said lovingly.

Then Doyle was slipping through his hands as Doyle sank to his knees, tongue flicking through a gap between two buttons of Bodie's shirt, before he mouthed Bodie's groin through his still fastened trousers.

"Thought we were going to bed," said Bodie, in slightly strangled tones.

Doyle was sliding down Bodie's zip, thumbing open the catch above it and nosing the contents of the black briefs.

"Ray?"

"I heard you. Can go to bed later." He paused to suck the inside of Bodie's thigh before looking up with the wickedest smile. "Or not."

o0o

Cowley paused in the doorway of his office when he saw the bottle on his desk, his expression relaxing the moment he saw the repulsive pink cherub. The gift tag dangling from its ankle said only 'Thanks, sir.'

While the whisky would have been Doyle's idea, the cherub - a stand-in for Cupid, he presumed - would have been Bodie's, which was why it was his writing on the tag.

Doyle had been right in his assumption; he wasn't a stupid man.

Cowley wasted no time in hiding the bottle in his briefcase. He wasn't about to waste whisky this good on Ministers who might come calling.

He dropped 'Cupid' into the waste bin, twirling the tag between his fingers. He debated making a note on Bodie and Doyle's files but decided it could wait until it became expedient to do so. He doubted the need would arise; despite the impression they liked to give, neither Bodie or Doyle were stupid men.

 

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

>  _Who is so safe as wee? where none can doe  
>  Treason to us, except one of us two._
> 
> John Donne: 'The Anniversarie'
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Written 16th December 2007


End file.
